


A Grimm Line Between Love and Hate

by Uratha



Series: Route 666: The Road to a Cure [4]
Category: Grimm (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Jackson Whittemore is a Winchester, M/M, My First Smut, Werewolf Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uratha/pseuds/Uratha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following up on a lead about a possible werewolf sighting, Sam travels alone to Portland, Oregon, where he finds something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grimm Line Between Love and Hate

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this one-shot has been in my mind for a long time. What I didn't expect was it to go all slutty. I blame the fact that I'm on cold medicines and thus, bereft of my better judgment. I don't know if people would prefer things implied, explicit, somewhere in-between, or a mix of the two (so PLEASE, let me know, so I'll know). This work is as is, unedited, and illness- and drug-induced. It probably sucks, but I'm feeling bold enough to try it. Not many pairings between SPN and Grimm, which struck me as odd, and none that I see are between Nick and Sam, so either this is something only my fevered imagination finds interesting or it will fill a niche. Either way, enjoy! I welcome all feedback!

Sam stepped out of the Impala and took a look around. The weather was overcast, but thankfully, it wasn’t raining. He didn’t hold out hope that his luck would hold in that regard, though. Opening the rear driver’s side door, he grabbed the jacket and tie, straightening his shirt to complete the federal agent look. Slamming the car closed with a squeak, he walked into the Central Portland Police Precinct with purpose, the air of near-bravado and confidence helping to cast aside any scrutiny into the deception, even after an awkward run-in of the literal variety into someone exiting the station. Shaking it off, he got inside and saw the desk sergeant—an Asian man whose nametag identified him as “D. Wu”.

Approaching without hesitation, he presented his identification. “Special Agent Jones,” he offered, inwardly stifling the laugh he felt brewing when he envisioned the eye-roll his brother would give him. It was a quiet little tribute to the late Ziggy Stardust himself, but Bowie’s real name was something of a sore spot for Dean. He said it made him think of the Monkees. That was not a good thing. “I need to see Detectives Burkhardt and Griffin.”

Wu examined the badge for a moment, and seemingly satisfied with its validity, he nodded. He stood and motioned for Sam to follow while he barked something at one of the officers, telling him to man the desk. He led the Hunter to the pen. “This is Special Agent Jones. He needs to speak to you,” he introduced.

Sam was quick to offer his hand with a smile. “Please, call me David.”

Both men returned the embrace with a friendly offering of “Nick” and “Hank”, and the former followed it up as he returned to his seat. “What can we do for you, David?”

“Actually, just had a few questions about an old case of yours. Checking in on some similarities to one of my own,” Sam explained. “It’s probably nothing, but just following up every possibility.”

Nick seemed to take the lead in the conversation, as Sam noted. It was a benign enough request that was common enough in occurrence that he wasn’t sending up any red flags for the two homicide detectives. “Of course, anything we can do to help. Which case?”

“A disappearance, about five years back. A girl named Robin Howell,” Sam supplied. He immediately noticed the change in their body language. A closed case from half a decade ago? And they remembered the name that readily? Something was off.

Hank chimed in at this point. “Vaguely rings a bell, but we’ll have to dig through some files to refresh our memories. Something specific you looking for?”

Sam cast his line in the water. “A strange report about a suspect, he said nonchalantly, pulling out a small notepad. “A clockmaker named Edward Monroe?”

“He was cleared of all charges,” Nick was quick to challenge.

Holding up his hands in defensive surrender, Sam shook his head with an apologetic look. “Not trying to cause trouble here. Just wondered if there was anything else you could tell me about the case or maybe talk to him to see if there’s any insights I could glean.”

Burkhardt’s posture was unflinching, but Griffin seemed to relax a bit. “Sorry for jumping down your throat. The file’s mistaken, Edward isn’t his name. Monroe’s a friend of ours. Nick was even best man at his wedding.”

The developments were growing more perplexing by the moment. “Like I said, not here to make waves. Just looking for some answers.”

“What kind of answers?” Nick almost demanded.

Sam gave them a disarming smile. “As strange as it sounds, my case involves reports of a suspect almost more animal than human—more wolf than man. Crazy, huh? Not buying that, obviously, but turning over every stone before the trail gets too cold.”

Hank interjected. “Well, nothing like that in our report. I like my jackets with short sleeves too much to put anything like that on paper, but knock yourself out.” He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper on his desk. “Here’s Monroe’s number and an address. It’s the spice shop his wife runs.”

Sam took the information and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks for your help,” he nodded, taking his leave before the tensions he was sensing escalated.

As soon as “Special Agent Jones” was out of earshot, Nick dialed a number. “We need to meet.”

 

Sam sat in an alley across the street as he watched Burkhardt and Griffin pull out. His hunch was right. The spice shop was a diversion. They were going to warn Monroe about Sam. He followed at a respectable distance. The pair were cops, so he needed to be careful tailing them. There were no fourth turns in the time it took them to pull up in front a small home, so he felt reasonably sure he hadn’t been made.

He waited outside for the better part of an hour. Eventually, the pair came outside with another man—presumably Monroe. Now that they were outside of the house, he was able to use some of his surveillance equipment to eavesdrop on their conversation. He just caught the tail end of it. The detectives had just caught a case involving a man and a woman murdered by a spurned lover.

Sam waited for them to pull away and for Monroe to go inside before he got out of the car and stealthily approached the residence. He snuck around, trying to get a better look, but he didn’t get far. Something grabbed him and slammed him into the wall. It was the last thing he remembered before surrendering to unconsciousness.

 

When Sam woke up, he found himself face-to-face with Monroe and a woman… presumably Rosalee Calvert, his wife. “Who are you?” she shouted. “What do you want with my husband?”

“I’m a federal agent, investigating a possible similarity between my case and the disappearance of Robin Howell, in which your husband was a suspect,” Sam lied.

The woman’s face shifted into something resembling a fox. “You’re _lying_!” she yelled.

Sam seemed puzzled by the transformation, but not alarmed, which caught the pair off guard. “You don’t seem shocked,” Monroe said, more than asked.

“Not the first kitsune I’ve seen,” Sam replied nonchalantly. “Although the visuals are a first. I’m guessing it’s something that comes as you get older? I do have a question, though, what is it with werewolves and kitsune?”

The couple stared at one another, confused. “Werewolves? Kitsune?” they repeated back in unison. The shock made it Sam’s turn to have trouble following.

“You’re _not_ a kitsune?” Sam asked.

Rosalee shook her head as she let the _Woge_ slip away. “No. I’m a _Fuchsbau_. That begs the question of who and _what_ are you?”

For whatever reason, Sam felt he could be honest with them. “I’m Sam Winchester. I’m a Hunter.”

“You _hunt_ us?” Monroe growled, his own face twisting into an approximation of the one that Sam had seen on the faces of his brothers, Derek, and the rest.

“Not unless you’re killing people,” Sam answered defiantly, not letting the lupine maw near his throat rattle him. “And if she’s not a kitsune, I’m guessing you’re not a werewolf. So what are you?”

The candor surprised Monroe. He shifted his face back to normal. “I’m a _Blutbad_. Werewolves? Seriously? You really believe those exist?”

“I know they do. I have two brothers who are werewolves,” the Hunter answered honestly.

Monroe and Rosalee looked at one another. After a moment, the former turned back to Sam. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

 

“So werewolves exist? Not _Blutbad_ , but honest-to-God _werewolves_?” Nick asked incredulously.

Sam nodded.

“And vampires?” he amended.

The Hunter nodded again. “It’s all real.”

“And you _hunt_ them?” Nick asked.

“If they’re a danger, then yes,” he replied.

Burkhardt turned to Monroe and Rosalee. “And you believe this?” he asked.

Monroe’s expression said it before his words did. “As opposed to a Grimm who doesn’t kill _Wesen_ for simply being _Wesen_?”

“And being a Grimm, from what they tell me, sounds pretty much like being a Hunter, albeit a bit more specialized,” Sam pointed out, returning Nick’s hostilities. “Though with only a few rare exceptions, most Hunters are just human like my brother and me—no super powers.”

“Aside from your brother being a werewolf,” Hank cut in. He had, until now, been silently taking it all in.

Sam grinned. “Fair point. That’s the crux of this. I’ve been looking into every report that sounds vaguely werewolf-like in hopes of finding something to make Dean human again.”

Burkhardt remained standoffish, despite the relative ease with which the others had accepted Sam’s story. Almost rolling his eyes, he sighed, “Well, I’m sorry you wasted a trip.”

Rosalee watched the exchange with obvious concern, though whether from heightened _Fuchsbau_ senses or women’s intuition was unclear. Everyone else was simply confused. She managed to signal Hank that she wanted to speak to him in private, even as Sam was gritting his teeth. “Obviously. I didn’t expect to find anything here, and nothing’s exactly what I found.”

“Does anyone else think it feels like the testosterone in here has been dialed up to eleven?” Monroe asked.

Hank nodded. “There is definitely something off here. Nick, why don’t we go talk to the Captain…,” he suggested, placing a hand on his partner’s arm. Burkhardt immediately jerked away and drew his service pistol, leveling it at the Hunter. Luckily, Hank and Rosalee managed to cast the barrel down before its projectile escaped.

If anyone had guesses as to what Sam’s reaction would be, the response of drawing his own gun and aiming at the homicide detective was not only not among those speculations, but no one could have imagined how quickly the Hunter’s reflexes would be. A lifetime of training made him nearly the Grimm’s equal. “Whoa!” Monroe yelled, grabbing Sam’s gun and aiming it to the floor as he fired.

Both men struggled against the others, and the _Blutbad_ and _Fuchsbau_ , along with Hank, could only barely restrain them. It was clear that they would not be able to do so for very long. Luckily, the arrival of Meisner and Trubel gave them the assist they needed. The female Grimm knocked the towering Winchester out cold, while the leader of the Portland cell of Hadrian’s Wall injected something into Nick’s neck which rendered him unconscious in seconds.

“What the Hell was that?” Hank demanded.

Meisner and Trubel looked at one another. Rosalee instantly picked up on it. “What?” she stressed.

“We’re too late,” Meisner told the younger Grimm.

“Too late for what?” Monroe asked, clearly confused.

Trubel sighed. “They’ve been poisoned.”

Rosalee shook her head. “Poisoned by what?”

“A rare type of _Wesen_. It’s called an _Unsterblich_ ,” Meisner explained.

“Undying?” Monroe translated.

Trubel looked guilty. “Clearly not.”

“What are you talking about?” Hank pressed.

“Your murder suspect,” she replied. “I killed her.”

Rosalee looked appalled. “What? Why would you do that?”

“She gave me no choice. We tried to capture her, but she tried to touch me. If she’d succeeded, I would be driven to kill the last person she touched without stopping… _ever_ ,” Trubel answered. “It’s some sort of pheromone that’s passed by something they secrete through their skin.”

Hank shook his head. “You keep saying ‘her’ and ‘she’, but our murder suspect was a guy.”

Meisner nodded. “One in the same. The _Unsterblich_ is a hermaphrodite, and part of its _Wesen_ nature is to completely shed its body in favor of a new one. You were correct that the literal translation was ‘undying’, but in the ancient tongue, it meant ‘always changing’.”

“Okay, so if he, or she, or whatever touched Sam and then touched Nick, or vice versa?” Hank asked for clarification.

“Then they will attempt to kill one another until one or both are dead,” Meisner told him succinctly.

Monroe’s eyes went wide with alarm. “I’m not okay with that. How do we fix it?”

“That could be a problem,” Trubel frowned.

“Why?” Rosalee quickly countered.

Meisner was the one who answered. “Because the way to counter the pheromones is by applying the opposite pheromones… which are secreted only when the _Unsterblich_ is alive.”

“Okay, so we find another one,” Hank suggested.

Meisner shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The pheromones are different from one to the next. Even if we knew where to find another one, its chemosignals wouldn’t stop the reaction.”

Rosalee shook her own head. “There’s got to be another way.”

“There’s a working theory, but there’s no guarantee that it would work,” Meisner hesitated.

“What is it?” Monroe growled.

Trubel shrugged, and Meisner grimaced. “The way that the _Unsterblich_ counters its own pheromones is by inundating its victim with the emotions from the opposite end of the spectrum.”

“So we just need to overload them with the opposite of wanting to kill one another, which is what, exactly? Love?” Hank asked.

“You’re not thinking visceral enough. The _Unsterblich_ could incite unstoppable rage… or insatiable lust,” Meisner revealed.

Everyone just looked at one another in stunned silence. Finally, it was Rosalee that broke the quietude. “So you’re saying that our only option to keep them from mindlessly beating each other’s brains out…?”

“Is to have them _fuck_ each other’s brains out, to put it both colloquially and bluntly,” Meisner said dispassionately.

“And how do you propose we do that? Nick’s never shown interest in guys,” Hank grunted. “Is there something in the shop that can work that kind of mojo?”

Rosalee shook her head. “Herbs and poultices can magnify natural attraction, but even if either were so inclined, the level of attraction you’re talking about is anything _but_ natural.”

“But not _super_ natural,” Monroe pointed out. His interjection was met by questioning looks. “Natural remedies aren’t strong enough to accomplish what we need, but maybe we need a _super_ natural intervention? Some magic that can do it?”

Trubel looked at Meisner, who returned the look. They both nodded at one another and said, in unison, a single word. “Eve.”

 

Eve stared at the unconscious pair with a quizzical expression. In addition to the others, they now had two other spectators. Captain Sean Renard stoically look on with interest, while Adalind Schade shifted nervously. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“No,” Eve said flatly.

Adalind’s expression was one of marked concern, then obvious alarm. “Then why are we doing this? Why not just move them to opposite ends of the country? Hell, the Earth?”

“It’s not enough,” Meisner told her, the voice of one of the few people she actually trusted. “The urge to kill one another would eventually consume every waking thought. They would smash their heads against a brick wall if they thought it would get them closer to their target.”

“That’s a cheerful thought,” Monroe blanched.

Meisner continued, “It gets worse. If they can’t kill each other within a certain timeframe, the bloodlust within them will cause the physiological response that comes from rage to turn their bodies on themselves… like an autoimmune disease. Either they kill one another, or they indirectly kill themselves.”

Adalind shook her head in disbelief. “So what happens when this is all done? When they no longer want to kill one another, what then?”

“I don’t know,” Eve answered coolly.

“How will Nick feel about… about me,” Adalind asked timidly, raising more than a few eyesbrows.

“I could care less,” Eve replied.

Adalind rolled her eyes. “I guess there’s still some Juliet in there after all.”

“No,” Eve corrected her. “I care about helping Burkhardt because the Grimm’s continued survival is beneficial to my mission. Your feelings about any of this, least of all his sexuality, do not impact my mission, meaning they are wholly inconsequential.”

Adalind was about to fire back a retort, but Sean stopped her. “What do you need from us?”

Eve outstretched a hand, and Rosalee proffered her the concoction made from the ingredient list they had found in the grimoire that had belonged to Catherine—Adalind’s mother. The _Hexenbiest_ followed the spell to the letter: invoking the words, burning the herbs, channeling her augmented power into it. After a few moments of otherwise silence, she stopped.

“Did it work?” Monroe asked, concerned.

“I don’t know,” Eve admitted once more. “But it _is_ done.”

Hank’s impatience was evident. “So now what?”

Meisner was the one who replied the answer, withdrawing two syringes full of stimulants. “Now, we wake them up.” He motioned to the pair of unconscious men. Hank and Monroe held down Sam, while Renard and Trubel held down Nick. Everyone held their breath until the duo groggily awakened.

When the Hunter and the Grimm struggled against those that restrained them, their eyes were fixed upon one another. “It didn’t work,” Adalind frowned.

“Let them go,” Eve told them. Everyone looked at her like she had lost her mind. In the closest semblance to an eye roll the otherwise emotionless former human repeated, “Let them go. If they attack one another, I’ll handle it.”

Reluctantly, they complied. Sam and Nick launched themselves at one another, but rather than trying to kill one another, they were grinding mouths and bodies so closely together that it was hard to tell where one stopped and another started.

“Um, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Rosalee stammered, awkwardly turning away and shielding her eyes as she started out the door of Burkhardt’s loft. The others quickly followed to escape the uncomfortable and strangely intimate scene behind them.

Eve walked past them neutrally before coming to an abrupt halt. She looked over her shoulder. “One more thing: there’s an additional complicating factor that may affect the outcome. Sam Winchester has died and been brought back to life, repeatedly. I’m not entirely certain that he counts as human, and neither does Nick, so how the spell will affect them is… _unclear_.”

“Un- _clear_!” Adalind shouted. “Don’t you think you should have _mentioned_ that first?”

The _Hexenbiest_ stared at her blankly. “To what end? It was the only option we had. Had we not tried it, Nick Burkhardt would soon be dead. Now, he may live.”

As she walked away, everyone could only watch her with slack-jawed amazement at her casual revelation.

 

Once they were alone, there was no restraint on either man—no inhibitions holding them back. The Grimm tackled the Hunter onto the bed, straddling him with one knee on either side. Reaching down, he ripped Sam’s shirt open and, in a feat of supernatural strength, proceeded to tear it completely off as seams gave way, leaving him bare-chested. Nick eased his way down Sam’s legs and bent forward, licking the crevice between his pectorals before biting at the skin that lay in the path to the larger man’s nipples. He lapped and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nubs before grinding his teeth around their obvious excitement. It made Sam yell, which, in turn, made Nick smile.

The mirth was short-lived as Burkhardt was caught off-guard. Sam was no Grimm, but he had a lifetime of training. He managed to throw Nick off him, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud. Lest the detective think he had overstepped, Sam was on him in a moment, driving his tongue past his lips and deep into his mouth. The middle Winchester brother had a good six inches of height on the Portland policeman, and he used it to full advantage. His hand was at just the right angle to slide beneath the denim that covered Nick’s straining erection.

Sam dropped to his knees and began yanking at the jeans feverishly, not even bothering to release the button or fly. The Hunter rans his hands around to the firm globes of the Grimm’s ass, digging his fingernails into the flesh so fiercely that blood ran down Nick’s legs. He simply held his grip there for a moment, appraising the engorged member that slapped against his face when it sprang free. He extended his tongue against the head, sliding the barest hint of the tip into the slit as he used his hands to knead Burkhardt’s ass, spreading the cheeks and beginning to massage the tight ring that separated inside from out. He lapped at the cock’s head generously, circling around it over and over again as he began to press one finger against his virgin hole. When he spread his lips and took in just the head—so that the edges scraped against the back of Sam’s teeth, Nick nearly collapsed as his legs refused to cooperate.

Sticking out his tongue beneath Nick’s member, Sam eased his mouth forward. He could feel the velvety underside of the shaft becoming slick against his tongue. The pubic hairs of the Grimm’s treasure trail tickled his nose, threatening to make him sneeze, and as he applied gentle suction and pressure, the swelling cock scraped against the back of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. The Hunter freed one hand and slid it up Burkhardt’s abs, pushing the shirt upwards. He clawed at Nick’s muscled stomach as he finally penetrated the unsullied ass with not one, not even two, but three fingers. Nick grabbed desperately at Sam’s hair as his knees buckled, trying to restrain himself… but it was to no avail. Winchester had found the prostate, and those impossibly long fingers were rubbing against the spongy sweet spot inside Nick. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he couldn’t speak. Hell, he couldn’t even breathe. Ropes upon copious ropes of cum shot out of Nick’s cock, and to his surprise, Sam just sucked harder, which made things that much better-slash-worse.

Semen dripped down Sam’s chin. He wiped it away with his fingers and trailed along the perineal ridge. “We’re just getting started. No sense in letting this go to waste,” he smiled at Nick as he began using the Grimm’s own slick juices as lube. Burkhardt wanted to protest, but he had neither the voice nor the desire to do so. Instead, he just stepped out of the pants, socks, and shoes at his ankles. Sam’s touch on the calves of his legs unbelievably made him rock hard again.

“Good,” Sam grinned devilishly as he stood. He pulled Nick’s shirt over his head, leaving the arms pinned within while he twisted the fabric tighter. He hooked Burkhardt’s arms around his neck while letting his own pants fall to the floor. Running his hands down the Grimm’s back, he gripped the tight ass once more, scooping it up in either hand before scooping _Nick_ up. The detective could only moan in confusion as his erection was trapped between his own torso and the ripped musculature of the Hunter. He soon learned what Winchester was doing, though. Sam was using his height to his advantage once more, wrapping Nick’s legs around his waist as he thrust his own cock up and into Nick’s ass. The Grimm was not a small man, in height nor weight, but the Hunter was manhandling him in a way that was making him see stars. Nick was also not a small man in terms of endowment, but gorgeously and painfully, Sam was proportioned accordingly. The length and girth made Burkhardt feel like he was about to split in two. That sensation didn’t abate as he bounced up and down on the younger guy’s manhood. In fact, each movement only intensified it, and he soon climaxed again. His load shot upwards between their chests. It traveled all the way up between their pecs, threatening to mat their chest hair together as it exploded against Winchester’s jaw.

That seemed to be the trigger for Sam’s own eruption, and he could feel his hot load dripping out of Nick’s ass and down the older man’s leg. The orgasm made Sam lose his grip, and they toppled backwards onto the bed. Sam just laughed, but Nick’s face was not one of amusement. “Sorry?” Sam offered uncertainly.

“You will be,” the Grimm finally smiled. He grabbed the cheap necktie that still hung limply around Sam’s neck. It had been set off-kilter by the removal of the shirt but otherwise remained. Nick grabbed it and pulled Sam back to his feet by tugging on either side of it. He turned the Hunter around and tied it over his eyes. Winchester, nude but for the makeshift blindfold and the socks still on his feet, began to pant breathlessly as Nick entwined his fingers in the long mane of hair and jerked it back forcefully. Nick kissed the back of Sam’s neck as he massaged his scalp gently, slowly moving his mouth up to Sam’s earlobe. He tugged on it a bit more insistently, and Sam got rock hard just from the warm breath against his ear. Burkhardt licked his way down Sam’s jawline from one side, placing a hand on either shoulder and eased him downward. Still behind, Nick ran his hands down Sam’s chest, grabbing his pecs with either hand, allowing the nipples to be stroked between his fingertips. When he reached the stomach, he eased his touch gently backwards, grabbing Sam by the Hunter’s hips.

Nick ran a hand up Sam’s back and bent him over. He nudged him forward onto the bed so that the Hunter could be on all fours while the Grimm was behind him on his knees. He outstretched Sam’s arms before him, running his hands up and down before finally intertwining and interlocking his fingers with the other man’s. His erection strained against Sam’s ass, and Nick suddenly lurched forward, shoving himself inside the Hunter. Bereft of lube aside from the Grimm’s precum, it took Sam by surprise. It didn’t take long, however, for the younger man to adapt. He began rocking his hips back and rock, bucking against Nick until the detective’s balls were slapping against him in a steady rhythm.

Sam’s grip tugged at the bedspread and sheets, but it was his _other_ grip that felt like it could break steel. He tightened himself on Nick’s dick, impaling himself to the point that each stroke was pressing against that G-spot. Finally, Sam’s cock released his seed without any tactile stimulation. The sensation was too much. “Fuck me. Fuck me!” he yelled at Nick. He sat up on his knees, the Grimm still inside him, arching his back in an attempt to taste the detective’s mouth. Nick, however, on the verge of excitement he had never known, grabbed his hair and pushed him back forward onto his forearms.

Sam smiled. “Yes! Yes! Do it!” he screamed, still blindfolded. The insistent commands were too much for Nick, who ran his hands up from Sam’s outer thighs to the Hunter’s hips. He shot load after load inside Winchester, who freakishly came once more as a result. Sam collapsed forward. Nick did the same atop him. The Grimm pulled off the blindfold and rolled off of him. He leaned over and kissed Sam like he’d never kissed anyone in his life.

 

“Still want to kill me?” Nick chuckled.

Sam let loose with uproarious laughter. “Of all the things that spring to mind under the heading of what I want to do with you, _killing_ you is nowhere even on the very, _very_ long list.”

Nick rolled over and kissed Sam. Their chests were rubbing against one another, and the Hunter wrapped his arms around the Grimm, pulling him closer. The detective smiled at the man beneath him, but Sam could see something behind the eyes. “What are you thinking, Burkhardt?”

The Grimm raised an eyebrow. “And how, exactly, did you know I was thinking something, Winchester?”

“My brother—my older brother, Dean, that is. He’s not much of a talker. Well, technically, he is. He pretty much talks non-stop,” Sam chuckled. “Meaningful conversations, however, are not his usual forte. As a defense mechanism, I’ve learned to read facial expressions. He’s pretty good at it, too, and now he’s got those damned werewolf senses, so keeping secrets is going to be next to impossible.”

“Keep a lot of secrets?” Nick asked.

Sam smiled. “More than my fair share. As a Hunter, it kind of goes with the territory, and for us, there’s a lot more… but you’re evading the question.”

Nick smiled. “Caught that, did you?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam smirked. “Talk.”

The Grimm sighed. “Just wondering where we go from here.”

“I’m going back to see my brother. Trying to find a cure here for his being a werewolf ended up being a dead end.”

“What about the younger brother?” Nick asked, curious.

“Jackson? He’s happy being a werewolf, as near as I can tell,” Sam replied, “but I have a feeling that’s not what you mean.”

Nick nodded. “What about us?”

Sam sighed. “Honestly? I have no clue. I no longer have an overwhelming desire to kill you, and I can carry on a conversation with you without _having_ to violate you in untold ways. That said? I’m still attracted to you, though I think back to my previous relationships and can remember the feelings I had for those women.”

“Same here. I’m suddenly reminded of just how convoluted my history with Juliet—Eve—and Adalind really is. Now, in the middle of all that, is you,” Nick confessed.

The Hunter inhaled sharply. “How about we give it some time and distance, and then we can see how we feel?”

“Sounds good,” the Grimm nodded. He left something unsaid, though, and Sam’s eyebrow went up expectantly. Nick smiled, realizing he’d been busted. “Just wondering how quickly you have to get back.”

Sam eyed him questioningly. “Why? Want to do something before I go?”

“I can think of a few things,” Nick said, leaning forward to tug on Sam’s bottom lip with his teeth.

 

Sam sped back to the Bunker in the Impala. Once back inside, Dean gave him a shit-eating grin. “Someone got lucky.”


End file.
